


Undercover

by cory_silver



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 07:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10692207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cory_silver/pseuds/cory_silver
Summary: This is not an AU, exactly. It’s more of an unlikely, though not completely impossible, version of what our favorite characters’ first jobs might have been.This piece of Stargate Atlantis fan fiction was written for the 2006 Undermistletoe challenge, and is based on the movie “Never Been Kissed.” It was also inspired by the following exchange in the Season 1 episode “Underground”:Rodney: I built an atomic bomb for my grade six science fair project.Ford: They let you do that up in Canada?Rodney: It wasn’t a working model. Still, I was questioned for 6 hours by the CIA, who believed I was part of a secret pre-teen organization. Actually, it led to my first job.I’ve also borrowed from the plot of a Veronica Mars episode. In short, nothing here is mine. I just had fun manipulating it for my own amusement and (I hope) for yours. Enjoy!





	Undercover

It was the first time he gave his name as Rodney. He may have just finished his PhD, but Rodney flattered himself that someone acquainted with the latest developments in Physics might just recognize the name Meredith McKay. He couldn’t have Jason Barnes recognizing him. That was why he introduced himself to Mrs. Fritz, his new homeroom teacher, as Rodney.

After Mrs. Fritz welcomed him to the class he settled into one of the desks with the chair attached and slouched against the hard plastic seat back to wait. Rodney was proud of the way he had dressed. The black hoodie and ratty jeans were classic high school, for sure. The Chuck Taylors said “punk”, but in a subdued kind of way. He hadn’t needed to change his hair at all, since he hadn’t bothered to cut it in months and riotous curls were flopping all over his head. He was kind of sorry he hadn’t gone for the full out safety pins and spikes look (What was the fun of going back to high school if you couldn’t have the rebellion you never had?), but Agent Collins had been pretty sure that wouldn’t be the right approach for Jason.

Jason slumped in just short of the bell and sat down across the room from Rodney, not seeming to notice the “new kid” at all. He was dressed in a black hoodie and ratty jeans (Rodney took a moment to congratulate himself), and his straight, light brown hair covered the tops of his ears and slipped in front of his eyes. Rodney slid further down in his seat and tried earnestly to project sullen and disaffected.

He thought maybe he could catch Jason’s eye with an ironic look during the Pledge of Allegiance, but the boy didn’t pay any attention. He rolled his eyes until he thought he’d strained some obscure ocular muscle while Mrs. Fritz detailed the upcoming Spirit Week festivities. Still Jason didn’t look at him. Finally, just before the bell signaling the transition to first period, Jason turned very slowly in his seat and fixed Rodney with a penetrating just-what-do-you-think-you’re-looking-at glower. Then he stood up and slouched out the door.

It suddenly hit Rodney with the physical force of a hand slapping his forehead that Jason was not going to walk over to him and say, “Why hello, you appear to be sullen and disaffected. What a coincidence—so am I. We should be best friends.”

That was about when the Mission Impossible theme song squeaked to a halt in Rodney’s head, followed by the sickening realization that he had no idea what in the hell he was doing.

* * *

 

“I don’t know why you want me for this!” Rodney was pacing the conference room, emoting with his arms. “I’m no actor. I don’t know how to get this kid to be my friend. I don’t know how to get anyone to be my friend. I was eleven when I started high school, for god’s sake! You think I had friends?”

Agent Collins made placating gestures, waving with palms towards the floor. “Meredith, listen. You don’t have to act like anything. Just, you know, be yourself.”

Rodney’s jaw was still clenched, but at least he had stopped pacing and turned to look at Collins, who was suddenly struck by how very young the man was. Despite a list of accomplishments as long as his arm, Meredith Rodney McKay was barely twenty-one. His body was long and a little gawky, with a torso that had yet to broaden enough for him to quite look like a man. That was the other reason they needed him for this assignment: he could still pass as a high-schooler. “In what way, exactly, should I be myself?”

“You know, smart. Ask him to work with you on a project or something. Even if he doesn’t want to start inviting you to sleepovers, he’ll respect your intelligence. You’ll be the only person for miles on his level.” Collins plowed past Rodney’s indignant snort at the implication that Jason was on his level. “Maybe he’ll show you his work. Remember, that’s the ultimate goal, but you can’t let on that you know about it.”

Rodney rolled his eyes, “Yes, yes. We’ve been through all that. I know what I’m supposed to find out I just have no idea why the CIA thinks I’ll be able to get it.”

“Because—who better to get inside the head of a kid who’s building a nuclear bomb… than a kid who built a nuclear bomb?”

Rodney sighed and dropped into a chair, looking spent. “You know I’m nothing like him, right? I mean, I built mine for a science fair, not to sell the plans to North Korea.”

Collins breathed a sigh of relief that he had managed to peel Rodney off the ceiling, and got down to business. “Of course I do. Now, we’ve checked the tapes from the first day and the audio and video feeds are working fine, although if you could fidget a little less the picture wouldn’t be as jumpy…”

* * *

 

John dropped heavily into a chair in the teachers’ lounge, resting his head in his hands. His thick brown hair poked through the gaps between his fingers, making it look even more artfully mussed than usual.

He heard the door open and shut behind him. High-heeled footsteps circled around to stop in front of him, and Kathy’s face peeked sideways under his hands.

“Hey, you,” she said. “Exhausted from beating ‘em off with a stick?” She batted her eyelashes coquettishly and continued in a voice half an octave higher than her own, “Mr. Sheppard, will you help me with my homework?”

He lifted his head, easygoing smile slipping naturally into place, though it was a little strained around the eyes. “Go away,” he said pleasantly.

Kathy patted his shoulder lightly. “Don’t worry,” she promised, “It gets easier.” At twenty-six, she was already a veteran from his standpoint. He’d had no idea what he was getting into, applying for a high school teaching job his first year out of college.

“I just keep thinking ‘student loan forgiveness.’ That’s my mantra. If only I’d done R.O.T.C. like my Dad wanted me to.”

She laughed, “Well, I hope you eventually think of it as more than that. I think you have a real gift. You want to get a drink after work and de-stress?”

He shrugged. “Sure.” She clacked back out the door, and, John went back to his efforts at telepathically willing the world to leave him alone. He hoped idly that Kathy hadn’t just asked him out.

* * *

 

On his second day of his second senior year of high school, Rodney attended his first math class at South Glen High School. He entered the class close on Jason’s heels, determined to snag the seat next to his.

He was so focused that he didn’t even hear the teacher trying to stop him as he went by. “Hey, welcome to my class. You must be Rodney McKay.”

Rodney slapped his books down on his target desk and dropped into the chair triumphantly. Jason groaned and pointedly inched his desk across the floor away from Rodney’s. “Persistent little faggot,” he muttered.

“Uh… you must be Rodney?” the teacher repeated, and finally Rodney noticed that the attention of the whole class was focused on him.

Rodney could feel the flush creeping up his face, “Yeah. Yeah, that’s me. I’m… uh… Rodney. Yeah.” He’d started to speak already stammering, so when he looked up to meet the teacher’s eyes, salvaging his dignity was a lost cause. The math teacher was half-sitting with his hip hitched casually up on his desk, looking at Rodney with a gently amused smile and one eyebrow quirked halfway to his hairline. He couldn’t have been much older than Rodney himself, but he was one of those guys who projected cool as naturally as Rodney projected awkward. He was possibly the most beautiful man Rodney had ever seen.

The girls in the back row were snickering over Rodney’s discomfiture. The teacher turned calmly to shoot them a pointed look, and the sounds from their corner became another kind of giggling altogether. “Welcome to my class,” the teacher said again to Rodney, “I’m John, but the powers that be around here would like you all to call me Mr. Sheppard.”

He gave Rodney a book, and asked the class to open it to the previous night’s homework. It was a set of word problems using calculus, and Rodney had figured out the first three in his head by the time most of the class was done rummaging through their three-ring binders.

“Let’s try number two. It’s one of my favorites,” Mr. Sheppard began, “Before we try to find the volume of this object, could anyone come up to the board and try to give us an idea of what it might look like? Most people find it easier to understand the equations if they can see a picture.”

“That’s ‘cause most people are stupid,” Jason grumbled, just loud enough for almost everyone to hear.

“Thank you, Mr. Barnes,” Mr. Sheppard said dryly. “Anyone have anything constructive to add?”

Rodney’s hand shot up.

“That’s alright Rodney,” the teacher told him, “You weren’t here when this was assigned, so I don’t expect you to participate right away.”

Rodney rolled his eyes, “Oh please, this is kids’ stuff. Allow me.” Mr. Sheppard raised both eyebrows expressively at him (Rodney was going to have to ban himself from looking at the top half of Mr. Sheppard’s face from now on), and motioned him to the board.

With his back to the classroom, Rodney barely seemed to know anyone else was there. Greetings and small talk might completely overwhelm him, but he moved through the world of numbers and diagrams like a shark through the sea. “The base is circular,” he explained as he drew, “and the cross sections are squares.” As his hand flew over the board, a peculiar object took shape. It was something like a half tennis ball, with two spines fanning out from a point in the front and meeting again at a point in the back. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jason watching him through narrowed eyes, arms crossed across his chest.

“Yes! That’s it exactly!” Mr. Sheppard enthused. “Nice job, Rodney.”

Rodney wasn’t done yet. In a few clean, elegant steps, he showed the class how to find the volume of the shape. He tried to act casual as he made his way back to his seat, but he couldn’t suppress the grin tugging his mouth up at the young teacher’s praise.

The rest of the hour dragged painfully, as Mr. Sheppard pulled out all his best teacher tricks to try to cajole most of the rest of the class into even wanting to understand the work Rodney had done. Rodney’s eye rolling stopped being for Jason’s benefit. With five minutes left of the class, Mr. Sheppard stopped the student who was painstakingly stepping through a problem on the board, and sent the boy mercifully back to his seat.

“I have some good news for you,” Mr. Sheppard said, “You’re going to get a lot better at this visualization stuff. Your midterm this semester will be a project applying the concepts you’ve learned. I’d like you to work in pairs.”

A groan went through the class. “What’s the good news, again?” a girl asked.

Mr. Sheppard smiled, “Besides the fantastic news that you’ll get to spend hours thinking about math, the winning pair will be going to the Illinois Math Olympiad. There’s a cash prize involved here, guys. Who doesn’t love a cash prize?” He rubbed his thumb and fingers together and waggled his eyebrows meaningfully. The room echoed with the ironic little snorts of teenagers pretending to be too cool to find their teacher funny.

The bell rang, sending the students scattering. Rodney stopped Jason on his way past. The boy halted for a moment with his back to Rodney and turned around slowly with a look that clearly said he couldn’t believe Rodney’d had the gall to speak to him. Jason’s hoodie was unzipped today, and his black t-shirt showed a pentagram of arranged bones.

“Hey. The… ah… word on the street is that you’re pretty smart,” Rodney said.

Jason snorted. “And?”

“And I was… uh… wondering if you wanted to work with me on the math project?”

Jason made a big show of looking him critically up and down. “I just want to get one thing straight, McKay: I think you’re a freak. But everyone else in this class is an idiot, and I want to win the money.”

“Great!” Rodney said quickly. He couldn’t believe it had been this easy. He was in. “So… I live way at the other end of town. Maybe we could meet at your place?”

Jason snorted. “You wish, Freak. We’ll meet here, tomorrow afternoon. And if you get on my nerves before then, you can forget about it.” With that, Jason slouched out of the room.

“Nice to see you’ve met the welcoming committee, Rodney,” Mr. Sheppard’s voice drawled from the front of the room.

Rodney jumped. He’d forgotten the teacher was there. “Yeah. Real friendly student body you’ve got here,” Rodney answered his grin with a lopsided smile of his own.

* * *

 

“So, what are your hobbies?” Rodney asked. Jason was sitting across from him in the otherwise empty math classroom, diagrams of their project spread out on the desks between them.

Jason stopped and moved his eyes very slowly up to Rodney’s face, with that look he reserved for when Rodney said something extra dumb. “What are your hobbies?” he parroted back, in a nasally voice. “Are you for real? What are you, a foreign exchange student?”

“Actually, I’m from Canada.”

Jason looked pointedly back at his work.

Rodney tried again. “Myself, I like math and science. Especially physics. Particularly nuclear physics. How about you?” When Jason didn’t respond, he forged ahead, “As a matter of fact, I designed a nuclear bomb for my grade six science project.”

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Jason asked casually, but Rodney thought he could detect something else underneath. “Most of the South Glen chess team could design a nuclear bomb if they wanted to.” Rodney knew for a fact this was a lie. He’d met the South Glen chess team, and they couldn’t design an emergency exit route out of a paper bag. Now, Rodney’s high school chess team, on the other hand…

“Could you?” Rodney challenged. “I’ll bet you couldn’t.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed, “What are you talking about, Freak?”

Rodney cursed the door for opening just then, when he felt like he was starting to get somewhere. “Hey guys. How’s the project coming?” Mr. Sheppard strolled in, one hand gripping a Starbuck’s cup and the other a stack of homework, which he tossed carelessly on his desk as he came around to peer over their shoulders.

Rodney waved his hand dismissively, “No fair peeking before we’re done.”

“Then do it under someone else’s roof,” Mr. Sheppard suggested helpfully. “Don’t worry, I won’t offer any suggestions. Not that you need them.”

He retreated to his desk to grade papers, his presence a constant buzz of awareness in the back of Rodney’s brain. Even if he forced his eyes to stay on the papers in front of him, Rodney’s ears would pick up the bump of his shoes hitting the desk as he propped his feet up, the rustle of fabric as he shifted in his seat, and the scratch of his fingers against his scalp as he tried to puzzle out a student’s handwriting that trailed off into the margins. Rodney and Jason didn’t speak again, and when the buzzer sounded for the late busses, Rodney pretty much bolted out of his seat and ran for the door. “Night Mr. Sheppard,” he called out over his shoulder.

* * *

 

“Rodney, I’m going to put this as gently as possible.” After hours of hearing everyone else call him Rodney on the tapes, Collins had finally made the transition in his own mind. “Your progress is… not quite what we had hoped.”

Rodney frowned, “I know. It’s harder than I thought it would be. I think I was getting somewhere with that line of questioning about the bomb. If only Mr. Sheppard hadn’t come back in the room, I think I might have goaded him into saying something.”

Collins sighed deeply and rested his head against the fingers of one hand, massaging his temples. “I’m sorry, Rodney, but that ‘line of questioning’ had all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. The only reason he doesn’t have you made right now is that he doesn’t respect you enough to think you’re capable of being up to something.”

Rodney stiffened, “But, Agent Collins, I really think—“

“No, Rodney. We’re changing your assignment. You’ve insinuated yourself into Jason’s life, so stay in it. Be where he is. We’ll keep the tapes rolling, and gather whatever information we can. Try to put yourself in position to see things, but you are not to try to question him any more yourself. I’m sorry, but it’s just not your strong point.”

Rodney’s mouth seemed to have tilted to a forty-five degree angle in his face. For once speechless, he turned to go with a dejected slump to his shoulders.

* * *

 

Rodney swirled his brush across the paper, forming a graceful red “S”. At the other end of the paper, about four feet away, John Sheppard was tracing an “M” with equal care. The teacher’s button-down shirt hung over the back of his desk chair, safely out of the way of drips and spills. Rodney tried not to look too longingly at the bare forearm, slightly tanned and covered in dark hair that had a copper sheen in the afternoon light slanting through the window. He also tried not to notice the way Sheppard’s well-defined shoulders gave shape to his gray t-shirt. It was a loosing battle.  
Jason had let it be known that he would show up and bring his brain, but no way was he going to paint South Glen Math Olympiad Team posters “like a fucking Girl Scout.” John (as he’d insisted Rodney call him once he was in the capacity of coach as well as teacher) hadn’t tried to argue, probably figuring that he wouldn’t be much help anyway. That left the two of them. Through the weeks that they’d been preparing for the Olympiad, Rodney and John had fallen into a pattern of easy banter, and Rodney almost forgot sometimes to keep up the pretense that he was a high school student. Today they worked in awkward silence, though, and Rodney realized they’d never been alone together. He searched his brain for something to say before John started noticing that he was acting differently.

“So, have you been to any of the college fairs this semester?” John spoke first, voice a little too loud so close to Rodney’s ear.

Rodney winced. He had been hoping to avoid the subject of college, though he’d come up with what he figured was a pretty good line in case anyone asked, “Nah, I thought I’d be self-taught. You know, it worked for Good Will Hunting.”

John chuckled appreciatively. “Still, there are plenty of good schools out there that know what to do with an independent thinker. Actually, there’s a recruiter from MIT coming here next week. I took the liberty of making you an appointment.”

“What?” Rodney almost dropped his brush.

John frowned, his forehead furrowing endearingly. “Don’t be angry. It’s just that I figured you wouldn’t want that big ol’ brain of yours wasted on the unworthy, you know?” He flashed Rodney his most charming grin.

Rodney could feel the heat creeping up his face, and looked back at his work, hoping that his hair was long enough to obscure his profile and keep John from seeing the goofy grin forming on his lips. “I… Thank you… Really. I just can’t do that right now. Don’t worry, I won’t waste my brain okay?”

“Deal,” John said fondly.

Rodney could hear John’s hand running through his hair, and couldn’t help looking up again. He laughed, “You have paint in your hair.”

“Oh yeah?” John raised his eyebrows playfully, “Well you have paint on your face.” With a deft flick of his brush he made it the truth.

“Hey!” Rodney scrubbed at his cheek, which just made John laugh harder as he only succeeded in spreading it around.

* * *

 

“I have to say, I’m impressed Rodney.” Agent Collins’ relaxed posture when he’d entered the room had been Rodney’s first clue that today’s conversation was likely to go well. “You’ve made some good progress with Jason, and he’s a tough nut to crack. With the number of times you’ve dropped him off after school, I think it’s only a matter of time before he lets you in the house. If worse comes to worse and we have to drop subtle and go in for a raid, the footage you got of his notebook while he was in the bathroom should be enough to push the paperwork though.”

Rodney glowed under the praise.

“That math teacher is all over you, though,” Collins continued. “Talk about a statutory rapist waiting to happen. If you want to nail him while you’re at it, we’ll be happy to pass it on to the appropriate authorities.”

Rodney spluttered for a moment, becoming all the more flustered by the various contextual meanings of the term “nail”. He knew the flush spreading over his face was damning, even as he tried to articulate denial. “What? He hasn’t… He’s not… What are you talking about?”

Collins just raised an eloquent eyebrow. The gesture reminded Rodney of John, which didn’t help to calm him in the least.

“Besides—it’s not as if I’m actually seventeen, so even if he were attracted to me, which he’s not, it wouldn’t be… you know… illegal.”

“But the point is he thinks you’re seventeen,” Collins explained. “Haven’t you ever seen ‘To Catch a Predator’?”

“Mr. Sheppard is not a predator!” Rodney protested, arms flailing wildly. “And I am not going to entrap him! Now I am going to walk out of here and go back to doing the job that you are paying me to do and forget that we ever had this conversation.” He stood and stalked out, closing the door with a firmness just short of a full fledged slam.

* * *

 

“Penny for your thoughts?”

John realized he had been staring out the window for the last several minutes. He turned and met Kathy’s questioning gaze. Their Friday afternoon beer had become a ritual, and he still wasn’t sure if she thought they were dating. It wasn’t exactly something he could ask, given what his response would be.

“Nothing important,” he lied smoothly, “Just exhausted.”

She smiled sympathetically. “I’ll bet you are. Look at you, Mr. I’m-just-in-it-for-the-student-loan-forgiveness. Taking a team to Math Olympiad in your first year. And what a team, too. Jason’s been our brightest star for years, though I have to admit he gives me the screaming willies. But that new kid, Rodney’s really giving him a run for his money, huh? Wow.”

John smiled, letting out a short breath through his nose in acknowledgement. Yeah, wow was right. He didn’t trust himself to speak on the subject of Rodney, afraid some undefinable thing in his voice would give him away. John told himself over and over that he was just a kid-- but that razor sharp mind, and the hidden gems of humor that shone through when he let his guard down, when he was comfortable with someone… like he was comfortable with John. And here was John, with his brain again and again following a path that would betray that comfort, that trust.

“I’m not sure it was the right choice for me, Kath,” he said.

“What, the Olympiad? I mean, it’s a lot to take on, but your team’s very independent. I’m sure they’ll do great.”

“No, teaching. I don’t think I can do this another year. I’ll stick it out until June, but then I’m joining the Air Force like I should have all along.” He hadn’t known he was even thinking it until the words came out of his mouth, but as soon as they did he knew that it was the right answer. His misbehaving mind needed some structure and discipline to keep it in line—a box to learn to think inside of. He couldn’t let this sort of thing happen again. That, and he would get to fly.

If he’d had any doubt about whether Kathy had feelings for him, the stricken look on her face erased it. He dropped his eyes to the table, wishing he hadn’t seen her moment of vulnerability.

* * *

 

The Olympiad was an even bigger event than Rodney had envisioned. Collins had spent much of the previous day alternately quelling his guilt at competing against high school students when he had a PhD, and soothing his fears that he would be recognized by one of the judges, all of whom were respected mathematicians (not an easy feat to accomplish without also bruising his ego).

They had hoped to have enough material on Jason by now to avoid Rodney actually competing. It would have been too bad for South Glen and John Sheppard, but more fair to every budding mathematician in Illinois. Unfortunately, the boy was still proving surprisingly elusive. Rodney’s efforts at tracking him, as well as more professional tails had turned up little. Collins was beginning to wonder if their original intelligence had been someone’s idea of a joke.

Since it was their first opportunity to observe Jason in such a complex setting, Collins had decided to station himself near the building and monitor the audio and video feeds live.

Rodney hadn’t been prepared for table upon table of college recruiters. The tables were piled high with brochures, key rings, t-shirts, and baseball caps embroidered with University logos. The recruiters were practically salivating over the Olympiad participants, pressing bags of free stuff into their hands. John was visibly restraining himself from wrestling Rodney bodily to the MIT table. He let the exaggerated movement of his eyes from Rodney to the table suffice to send the message.

Jason had apparently come prepared. As soon as the group had reached a place to put their bags down, Jason pulled a large stack of glossy black folders from his backpack. “What’re those?” Rodney peered with interest.

“Portfolios. Kind of like a resume. You give them to college recruiters, so you can show off stuff they might not see on your application. Haven’t you ever seen them before?”

Rodney hadn’t, though he had to admit to himself it had been a while since he’d applied to college. It seemed a suspiciously mainstream idea for someone like Jason, though.

Jason shrugged, “Suit yourself. If I get into Caltech and you’re flipping my burgers, don’t say I didn’t try to offer you a fair playing field.” He wandered off to make the rounds.

John was sprawled in a chair, deeply engrossed in a rule book that had been handed to each teacher that chaperoned a team. He looked up briefly when he sensed Rodney studying him, and waved him off gently, “Go get some free stuff, or something. They’ll never know if you’re applying or not.”

Rodney scanned the room trying to locate Jason again, skimming his eyes over the sea of fresh-faced juniors and seniors, eagerly absorbing the sales pitches. Suddenly, something snapped into place for Rodney, with an almost audible click. Something about the room full of smiling recruiters pressing bags of goodies into students’ hands, and Jason with his stack of identical black folders. In a couple of hours, the recruiters would pack up what was left of their materials and catch the next planes home to twenty different states. They’d never be able to figure out which one it was.

Rodney’s heart rate was climbing with the growing certainty that if an exchange were to take place, this would be the place to do it. He scanned the room with rising dread. What if it had already happened, and he had missed it lingering around mooning over John? He still couldn’t see Jason, but he tried to imagine how he would identify Jason’s contact. It had to be a slightly obscure, far away college, so that none of the other recruiters or local teachers would expect to know the person.

He finally spotted Jason halfway across the room, approaching a table labeled “Drew University, New Jersey”. He started across the room at a purposeful pace, shouldering high schoolers aside as he went. Belatedly, he remembered Collins was watching a live feed. “Collins, come inside,” He said into what appeared to be thin air, attracting a few stares from the kids in the immediate area. “It’s one of the recruiters, Collins. Get in here.”

It wasn’t the CIA that came bursting in, though. Actually, the CIA tended not to burst in, preferring to keep their operations discreet. By the time Rodney reached Jason, the boy was surrounded by men in dark suits waving FBI badges. Others were flipping through his pile of folders, and still more were surrounding the recruiter, rifling through his belongings. The room was becoming mass chaos, students unsure whether to stand and gawk or run for their lives, some of them trying to do both and heightening the disorder as they jogged backwards into tables.

John arrived just as Jason, hands already cuffed behind his back, was turning to Rodney with a sneer. “You. You did this. Who are you, really, McKay?”

Restrained by a group of armed men, Jason had lost all of his ability to intimidate. Rodney smirked at him, “I’m an undercover Federal agent, sent to take you down, Barnes.”

The agent holding Jason’s left arm fought valiantly against his grin, “If that’s true son, I’d say you’re an ex-Federal agent now. They don’t exactly like people blowing their covers. Just a little tip.”

Rodney’s mouth made a surprised O, and an image flashed through his mind of Collins parked outside, pulling his hair out at the sheer stupidity of his charge. Rodney reached into the collar of his shirt and flicked off his recording devices. It was all over now, anyway. The FBI man shook his head in amusement, “Rookies.”

Rodney should have left then. He should have gone to find Collins, or maybe just crawled in a hole somewhere. Instead he skulked around, waiting for John to finish talking to the FBI, then followed the man out.

Rodney caught up to him just as he rounded the corner into the parking lot, grabbing his arm and pulling him into the shadow of the building. Back here, the confusion of the crowd receded, and they had the illusion of privacy. Rodney’s hand gripping his tricep kept John from bolting. “John, wait,” Rodney pleaded. “Let me explain.” with his cover blown wide open as it was, he supposed there was no reason he couldn’t explain.

“What do you want to explain to me?” John was surprised at the anger in his own voice. “That it’s okay? That you’re not really seventeen so it’s okay?” He waved his hand back and forth between them in a vague clarification of what “it” was.

“That’s right,” Rodney encouraged, “I’m not. And it is. Okay, I mean.”

John shook his head, “You don’t get it do you? The point is I thought you were. I thought you were and I still wanted…”

Rodney’s blue eyes were wide and needy. “You wanted…?”

Afterwards, neither one of them could remember who had moved first, but suddenly they were kissing—hot and hungry and over too quickly for either one of them to be left with any clear sensory memories. They both remembered that it was John who pulled away first.

“I’m joining the Air Force,” John blurted. It wasn’t what he had intended to say at all. The wounded slash that Rodney’s mouth formed across his face was one detail from that night that imprinted on John’s mind. But Rodney remembered the pain on John’s face, too, and the stiffness in his back as he turned and walked away.

 

* * *

 

It was probably because of John that Rodney accepted the job with the Air Force. Whether he was clinging to the unlikely possibility of their paths crossing again, or if it was merely a foolish sentimental equating of Air Force = John Sheppard, he was never sure.

He was also never sorry. He saw things and learned things with the SGC that he could never have imagined or believed.

It was a few years into that incredible journey when he saw the surprised shock of hair sticking up from the control chair, and the two familiar eyebrows crawling their way towards the hairline that, unlike his own, hadn’t receded a bit. When he heard the drawled, “Did I do that?” Rodney knew what he’d really been hoping to find here.


End file.
